


Scaffold

by Kanana



Category: Original Work
Genre: Character Death, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 10:38:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15411102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kanana/pseuds/Kanana
Summary: This the story of Thomas More’s execution told through his eyes. It is important to note that every word that Thomas More verbally speaks is a direct quote. The account of the execution in all its particulars is also true, being drawn by eye witness accounts of the event. Only the thoughts in his head are supplied by own imagination.





	Scaffold

Scaffold  
The light was painful in its intensity. I had been so long without the light. My former position as Chancellor and my family's comparative wealth had saved me from some of the horrors of the Tower. My food might have been plain and sprinkled with soot, but at least it lacked the vermin that often-filled prison food. My cell was dank, damp, and dirty, but at the very least I was alone with a modicum of privacy. However, there had been no light in my cell. There was no light and no fresh air, just the smell of fetid air and misery. Now as I stepped forward toward my death I winced at the light that I had longed for so ardently. Winced because its intensity was too much for my careworn and tired eyes, so used now to the darkness. I winced at the light, but I breathed great greedy gulps of the fresh air. 

I had missed this, missed the sun and the warmth of the wind at my back. All of London stunk of human waste, but the Tower stunk of misery. Out in the open air, both smells dissipated for a time, giving me a feeling of contentment in the pure creature comfort of escaping foul smelling air. I enjoyed my moment of brief tranquility in the morning sun before I was called upon to move towards the scaffold. Yet all too the prison guards began to attempt to hurry me towards the scaffold. However, all their efforts for haste would be in vain. I could feel my own weakness permeating my veins as they attempted to move me. Poor food, dirty water, and infrequent exercise had caused my muscles to atrophy until I was just a shell of the man I once had been physically. Even just walking was almost too much for me. They had weakened my body in that prison for the body beyond any hope of repair. Yet as they had weakened my body and imprisoned it, my soul had soared and strengthened. After all, I had desired a cell at one time, to strengthen my body. I had desired to be a Carthusian. 

I had thought that I could be very happy in the monastery. With my books and my time dedicated to becoming a better servant of God. The very thing that intrigued me about the Carthusians was their austerity. That and their resemblance to the hermits of the early Church. The monks live in individual cells, where they pray, study, eat, and sleep, gathering in the church only for the night office, morning mass, and afternoon vespers. They eat together on Sundays and at great feasts when they also have a period of conversation; and once a week they take a long walk together, which would have been excellent for my ability to think and work on philosophical work. In a way, it sounds like heaven. However despite my best efforts Father Prior eventually decided I did not have a vocation. I remember with startling vividness how painful that was. I had known the austerity of the life and the sacrifices it would require and a part of me had always been drawn to married life. But even as he told me I would not be accepted into the order. Then he furthered that statement by saying he did not think I had a vocation as a religious at all. I felt stifling disappointment. I had wanted desperately to do God's will. Although I knew it was just God's will at work, at the time it felt stiflingly like a failure. When you attempt the religious life you assume they will want you, to find out that they do not feels so much like a failure it is a physical pain.

Now, some I was in a cell far from the world and in that time my soul had been strengthened the way I had dreamed it would be when I was a young man dreaming of the Carthusians. My soul had needed that strength to ensure that I could stand against the King's will. The high position that Henry himself had thrust upon me made it imperative for me to stand against the king. If I gave into the King's wishes many would follow me. I could not help but think that maybe this was why the Carthusians had turned me down. Not so that I could be Chancellor, but so that when I stood by my conscience an entire country would see me do it. I could not help but think of Christ at that moment and his walk to his death. Due to my weakened state, the scaffold still seemed far away. How far away must the cross have been for Christ? A part of me just wanted the execution to be completed. Another part of me was desperate to take just one more step to breathe in one more time.

I see a movement from the crowd physically present to watch my death. Before the guards can stop her, a woman runs towards me. In her hands is a goblet of wine. Her eyes are big in her face as she says, "Drink it, my Lord. It will give you strength." Looking at her desperate face I almost wished to drink it. But the memory of the passion that had just entered my mind makes me unable to accept it. I have to say, "Christ at his Passion drank no wine, but Gall and Vinegar." After my harsh words, I smile at her and continue to my point of execution. An execution that was ordered by the king I had served only second to God all my life. Not that I was not aware that he might he do so someday. I could remember telling my son in law, William, when he asked about Henry's favor one day, "If my head would win him a castle in France, it should not fail to go." Now Henry was sacrificing my head, but it was not for a castle in France. He was seeking to obtain an heir, a woman, and control over the Church in England. With such high stakes, I could not help but fear that my head would not be enough. How many other brave men and women would lose their head if they opposed Henry's dream? Would I be only the first in a long line of people sacrificed to appease Henry's ambition?

I knew that already His Excellency, John Fisher was imprisoned in the very Tower I had just left. So were a token few of the same Carthusians I had once sought to join. Would these men be enough? I could only be glad that my fate was already decided. For so long I had held my tongue about Henry's actions, fearing that like Tertullian I was simply courting martyrdom. But now my fate was decided, I would die for my silence, not my words. Although perhaps after all the silence of the Chancellor and a noted favorite of the king spoke louder than any words. People expected me to follow Henry, they did not expect me to oppose him. I was the King's servant and a servant knows his place. But I had sought first to be a servant of God, and as such my allegiance was to God, my family, and then my King. 

My family, if they were here today I could not see them. I rather hoped they were not, Alice above all others. Margret, my daughter, understood. She had her mother's heart. But Alice, my wife chosen in haste after I was made a young widower, for all that I love her always lacked understanding. In a way, I have always found it cute and amusing. An excellent housewife, she would bustle around doing her work, and in my natural perversity, I would often take it upon myself to distract her by untying her apron as she bustled by. Her aspiration at me never ceased to lighten my spirits, no matter how hard the day had been. Especially her exasperation and my prank were more in fun than in earnest. I would be the second husband she would lose, and for reasons, she did not understand. I felt for her, my wife, but I had to follow my conscience and my conscience dictated I die to satisfy Henry's ambition.

Another movement from the crowd. Another women approaches, her words are garbled and spoken in haste, I have a very hard time understanding her. As far as I can tell, however, she is looking for some papers she supposedly gave me when I was Lord Chancellor. As if I would have brought them with me to the scaffold. I fear I have very little patience with her. I find myself speaking waspishly as I say, "Good woman, have Patience but for an Hour and the King will rid me of the Care I have for those Papers." Then for some reason, I find it funny to think that those papers could be the only thing on her mind and I have to add with a touch of black humor, "And everything else besides." Yes, I will lose everything on this earth, but I will retain my soul. I may lose my body, but I can only hope that my soul will find happiness. After all, I have strived to serve God well.  
My beard is itchy. I never wore a beard before my sojourn in the Tower. Many men did following the example of Henry VIII, but it never appealed to me. A beard harbors louse and often times food, and thus flies. As such a beard is a direct contradiction to my love of cleanliness. Not that I am not considered to be an anomaly among member s of the court for my fastidiousness of body and soul. It was part of the reason that I refused to be in the court, preferring instead my estate in Chelsea. I have not seen my beautiful home for some time. I miss walking by the river. Of the river was used as a mode of travel by Henry and myself, it gave us direct access to each other. He would often come to my estate to escape the pressures of the court. And now, that dear friend who treated my house as his own has sent me to die. At many times Henry had asked me to move more permanently to the court, I refused. I didn't trust the courtiers and hated the uncleanliness of Body and mind found in Westminster. Long before Anne had reached the courts her sister Mary had entered the courts. Although I have not great love of Anne, Mary I felt an empathy for, despite the fact that she represented the King's infidelity. She had been forced to the courts by Henry and her family. I often felt just as forced. As if my hands were tied. I felt more free in the Tower than I did as Chancellor.

Fame comes at a cost. Every one of my actions was scrutinized closely. Many people believed that I had treated them poorly. One such soul seems to have emerged from the crowd now. Apparently, she had requested an introduction to the courts from me and I had refused her. She had sought for me to present her so that she could present her cause to the King. I am half amused by her ability to question such a decision when I am being executed for my position in the same courts. I have no true response for her but this, "I very well remember your request for an introduction to present your cause, and if I were to decide it now, I should make the same Decree." How could I wish anyone into those fetid courts, no matter what their cause may be? Even Anne Boleyn I wish well out of them. Or for that her sake that she gives Henry his son. She would be insane to think that he loves her. He is in love with the idea of her and the heir she may present to him. Her youth and fertility call to him, not her intelligence and soul. If she fails to give him an heir she may find herself in my spot, and this is not a fate I would wish on anyone. Not even the woman who is directly responsible for my execution.

No, I cannot regret my decision. In fact, there is nothing in my life that I regret, not even my time in the courts. That time made me visible. Indeed everything in my life has lead to this, my death. The only thing we know about a newborn child is that it will die, and I can only hope that my death will serve my God and lead my King back into the light of the Church. If this is the end I pray that my God will see it as a martyrdom so that I may be placed among the lines of his Saints. All my life has been for him, now all that is left to give him is my death. 

At long last, I have reached the scaffold. It looks as if a gust of wind will bring it down. How can a place with the power to end men's lives look so frail? I sincerely doubt it will hold me. I cannot help saying so to the guards and adding, "Pray, Sir, see me safe up; and as to my coming down, let me shift for myself." It is not the soldier's fault that he was chosen to take part in my execution. Why would I add to his misery by acting miserable? I am not miserable. Although I love this earth, and all I have acquired on it, from my home to my family, I am ready to go home to God. All my life I have been searching for a peace that was just out of reach. A perfection that I could never attain. Perhaps this was God's way of reminding me that I was not meant for this life. In heaven, I may be reunited again with my beloved Jane. I had thought I was in love with her sister in the beginning, bit married her to spare her the shame of seeing a younger sister married before her. Now I know that was just another way God changed my life for the better. Jane was uneducated and ill-informed when I married her. But I began to teach her, and soon I found a beloved companion and the love of my life. Margaret looks so much like her. She not only the image of her mother, but her counterpart in understanding, intelligence, and sweetness. I sincerely hope William knows that I gave him my greatest treasure. 

I will not have time to tell him so, however, but I do have time to speak to the crowd. The crowd that has gathered to watch me die. I began my speech begging them to follow their consciences and the dictates of the Church in their time of need, but soon the Sherriff interrupts me. So I simply desired the People to pray for me, and bear Witness I died in the Faith of the Catholic Church, a faithful Servant both to God and the King. After all, I was the King's good servant, but I was God's first. Today my body would be separated from my soul to please the King. Then he would put my head on a pike on London Bridge until it was removed for the next man that was executed. This would be my reward for all the years I had spent in an Earthly King's service. Thus I would devote myself to the Heavenly King, his reward seemed to be more promising. My King was offering me death, my Heavenly King was offering me eternal life. It was an easy decision to make.

So I prayed, for the last time on this earth, the great psalm of penitence, Psalm Fifty-one. "Have mercy on me, God, in your kindness. In your compassion blot out my offense. O wash me more and more from my guilt and cleanse me from my sin. My offenses truly I know them; my sin is always before me.” All my life I had fought against sin, but now in my last moments I found myself regretting all my moments of imperfection. All the times I may have offended God, and I wondered, have I done enough? “Against you, you alone, have I sinned; what is evil in your sight I have done. That you may be justified when you give sentence and be without reproach when you judge. O see, in guilt was I born, a sinner was I conceived. Indeed you love truth in the heart; then in the secret of my heart teach me wisdom.” Wisdom, a virtue that I had could only pray I had attained, nonetheless God must know I had tried all my life to do the right thing. “O purify me, then I shall be clean; O wash me, I shall be whiter than snow.” Only God could forgive me of my sins, I searched frantically for anything that I had forgotten to confess, A perfect act of contrition was imperative now. “Make me hear rejoicing and gladness, that the bones you have crushed may revive. From my sins turn away your face and blot out all my guilt. A pure heart creates for me, O God, put a steadfast spirit within me. Do not cast me away from your presence, nor deprive me of your holy spirit.” God’s presence, the ultimate goal and the ultimate beauty, hours basking in his sight would never be enough. If I had an eternity it might be sufficient. 

“Give me again the joy of your help; with a spirit of fervor sustain me, that I may teach transgressors your ways and sinners may return to you.” Especially Henry, he was not a bad man. Just a very prideful one. I forgave him for this, I only hoped that he still stood a chance at heaven. “O rescue me, God, my helper, and my tongue shall ring out your goodness. O Lord open my lips and my mouth shall declare your praise. For in sacrifice you take no delight, burnt offering from me you would refuse; my sacrifice, a contrite spirit. A humbled, contrite heart you will not spurn. In your goodness, show favor to Zion: rebuild the walls of Jerusalem. Then you will be pleased with lawful sacrifice, holocausts offered on your altar.” I was the holocaust, the last sacrifice I had to give was my life. May God make it worthy.  
After this prayer, which had never seemed more appropriate than it did now as I asked my Heavenly King to grant me the mercy my earthly King had denied me. I turned to the executioner. His time had come. I pity him. He too is just the King's servant, and I hope to make this easy upon him. So I asked him for his forgiveness, that he might forgive me for inadvertently putting him in such a situation. Then to lighten his dark thoughts, for I could tell the thought of killing me weighted heavily on him, I said, "Pick up thy Spirits, Man, and be not afraid to do thine Office; my Neck is very short, take heed, therefore, thou strike not awry for having thine Honesty." Although I knew I must die I had a selfish reason for wishing him to be at ease as well. If the axe swung awry this would be a much more painful endeavor, then if the first stroke took of my head. To lay there with a half-severed neck had no appeal for me. 

At the last moment, however, as I lay my head upon the block I remembered my poor beard. I wanted people to see me as I was now, and for all that I hated that louse-ridden beard, it was a part of my prison identity, so I said, "Wait, wait, executioner, until I have put my beard aside. As far as I know, the King has no quarrel with my beard that requires him to be cut in two, he has not committed treason. I felt a thrill in my spine to hear the laughter of the crowd at my statement. I wished to die with the sound of laughter in my ears, not tears. So with that, I laid my head on the block and waited for the axe to fall.


End file.
